It Takes a Thief
by Mishka67
Summary: Bates knows something is wrong. But he's going to need a little help to make things right. Just a tiny bit on the Crack side. Slight spoilers, such as they are, through S5E5.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Hello, all you wonderful Downton people! This is so NOT what I expected my first published DA fic to be. It has literally been YEARS since I have written, much published, any fanfic. However, after a way-too-late night trolling about on Tumblr, this idea would not let go. It will go another one, maybe two chapters, which I aim to have posted before next week's episode. To paraphrase Lady Mary, please don't take anything I say seriously. **

It Takes a Thief

John Bates stood in the courtyard behind the kitchens, seeking answers in the stars. The fingers of his right hand drummed against his cane. He noticed and stilled his hand. He glanced toward the door expectantly. She was late. Releasing a pent up breath, he shuffled to the bench and eased himself down, ensuring he could still see the door. He leaned back, stretching his legs out. That was a relief, at least. After several moments he caught himself tapping his cane against his left sole. He shook his head, stilled himself once more, and placed the cane carefully against the bench. She was late. He knew perfectly well that she was capable of looking out for herself, but he was worried all the same. They had precious little time and here she was late.

He looked around the courtyard, _**their**_ courtyard it would always be in his mind, though lately others seemed to get more use out of it. So much of their story had played out here in this tiny corner of the great house. He had kissed Anna for the first time just over there, professed his love openly for the first time not far from where he now sat. He had broken her heart here and begun the process of mending it again. And somewhere in the midst of all that he had proposed, if you could call it that, and while her acceptance was a foregone conclusion, he had been as nervous that night as he was now. Though for vastly different reasons, of course.

Just as he was about to give up on her, the servants' door opened and her slender figure was there. He motioned her over with a tilt of his head.

"Good evening, Mr. Bates," she said, her voice devoid of expression. "How can I help?"

"Thank you for coming," Bates spoke softly. "I do believe that you're the only one who can help." Bates noticed his fingers drumming against his leg and again consciously stilled them.

"I will certainly help if I can, Mr. Bates," she softened her tone to match his.

Bates took a breath, ordering his thoughts, and therefore his words. His eyes roved the courtyard and then returned to her face. "I know," he said.

She took a step back from him, wringing her hands together. "What do you know, Mr. Bates?" Her voice was still soft, but there was a trace of fear in it.

Bates winced, he hadn't meant to be so cryptic; they had so little time. Anyone could walk through that door at any moment, even—"I know you've been inside, Miss Baxter," he interrupted his thoughts with his planned speech. "I know, because I've spent enough time there myself. And we do not have much time. The fewer who know about this, the better."

"Know about what?" she asked hesitantly.

"The story arc, Miss Baxter, the story arc. Mine as well as yours. A few others." Bates looked about furtively, motioning her to sit beside him. He leaned closer toward her, resting his hands on his cane. "You've spoken with Anna. You know the basics of our story. Does any of that ring any bells lately?"

Miss Baxter's eyebrows inched up her forehead. "Are you referring to the fact that you and I both spent time in prison for theft?"

Bates nodded. "That's certainly part of it. And how about the fact that Anna always believed there was more to my story, just as Molesley is convinced the same about you."

Baxter shook her head, "I'd really rather not discuss that time of my life, Mr. Bates."

"And there's more! Right there! Don't you see? You don't want to talk about your past." Bates all but spat the words. "Miss Baxter," he caught himself and backed away from her, lessening the vehemence of his speech but retaining the intensity of his words. "Miss Baxter, your story arc with Molesley is a . . . a . . . a re-imagining of mine with Anna." He paused again, this time for planned effect, and held her gaze, "The Author has become lazy."

"The Author?" Baxter retained the capitals.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Bates sneered. "You're smarter than that. I may not believe in much, but I _**know **_The Author is real. I've seen him."

"Mr. Bates," Baxter drew her lady's maid face back into place, "why are you telling me this?"

Bates took her hand with relief, squeezed it once, then practically dropped it in his haste to recover his sense of propriety. The physical contact clearly made the woman uncomfortable. "I have a number of skills, Miss Baxter, that I acquired in prison and elsewhere. I'm sure you do as well. I think that between us, we can-"

"Mr. Bates!" Baxter's voice rose an octave though somehow remained as reserved as their surroundings. "I am NOT that person anymore."

"Please stop it, Miss Baxter," Bates drawled. "You can have so much more than a 2nd printing storyline. You sound like me from about 20 episodes ago."

"I know, I know," Baxter hung her head in defeat. "But what can we do? The Author writes and we live it out. You can't change fate."

"Maybe you can't, Miss Baxter," Bates leaned in once more, earnest. "But I believe I can. I've known The Author for quite a bit longer than you have, after all."

"The why do you need me?" Baxter whined, albeit primly.

Bates started when he heard a crashing noise from inside. He stole a glance at the door and prepared to stand. "Daisy!" he heard Mrs. Patmore bellow. Bates relaxed as he heard Daisy's shrill, "I'm coming, Mrs. Patmore!"

"Because although I was in prison for theft, I am not actually a thief, Miss Baxter," Bates wondered if there was more pride or perfidy in his words. "I need you to steal the upcoming scripts. I will make the needed changes and then you will put the scripts back."

"You want to steal our storylines?" Baxter was incredulous.

"Not permanently," Bates explained, "just long enough to make some . . . adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?" Baxter asked. She shook her head rapidly. "No, don't tell me. We cannot steal our own storylines. The Author would know. He would know, don't you see? He wrote them in the first place. He'll know if it starts playing out differently."

"Yes, He will know, but by then it will be too late to change again. And He'll see that my ideas are better anyway. You deserve better, Miss Baxter, better than a tired old repeat of my story. Anna certainly deserves better. And while I don't deserve any better than I've been given, Anna and I have been married for five years and we don't have any children yet. Whose fault do you suppose that is? It isn't mine, Miss Baxter, I'll tell you that, it most definitely is not mine!" Bates took in a deep breath.

"Mr. Bates," Baxter replied, "I have no desire to be privy to your marital relations with Mrs. Bates. It is quite enough for me to keep up with Lord and Lady Grantham."

"There is absolutely no reason that we should not have had a child by now, Miss Baxter," Bates insisted. "No reason. No Reason," he intoned, lacing his words with double entendre. "And since we seem unable to conceive in the natural way, which believe me, Miss Baxter, should have happened long ago, I will have to remove the contraceptive that The Author clearly must have in place."

"So this is your real reason? You want a child and The Author doesn't want to give you one?" Baxter suddenly seemed to find a bit of fire, looking him straight in the eye. "And here I thought you were so concerned about me and Mr. Molesley."

Bates deflated. "I am concerned about you and Molesley. I'm concerned about His Lordship. I'm even concerned about Thomas and Isis, who really ought to be dead by now, when you stop to think about it." Bates shook the stray thought away, willing Miss Baxter to join his scheme with the force of his gaze. "I'm concerned about who really killed Green. The Author seems to be heading in the completely wrong direction on that one. I think I can save everyone's storyline, make everyone's future a bit brighter. Well, almost everyone. I just need your help."

Baxter shrunk in on herself in turn. "What do you want me to do?"

"Thank you!" Bates said surprised at her sudden acquiescence. "They're going to Lord Merton's for supper tomorrow. Meet me here after they leave. Wear black."

"I think I can arrange that, Mr. Bates." Baxter nodded and made her way toward the door. She stepped back as the door opened in her face.

"Mr. Bates?!" Anna called as she barreled through. "Are you out here?" She narrowly avoided running Miss Baxter down. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Miss Baxter. Have you seen Mr. Bates?"

"Just over there, Mrs. Bates," Baxter said, waving toward the bench. "Have a good evening."

"Yes, and you as well," Anna added mechanically, her eyes already settled on her husband.

"And just what are you doing out here, plotting with Miss Baxter?" Anna asked.

Bates noted the twinkle in her eye and responded in kind. "Plotting? Why nothing of the sort. Miss Baxter and I have just realized how much we actually have in common." Anna eyed him more speculatively. Bates harrumphed. "We're both brooders, among other things. Are you ready to go? I've been waiting for you."

"Without your coat?" Anna held up a bundle of their coats and hats. "It's a bit too cold to wait for long without."

"Thoughts of you keep me plenty warm, Mrs. Bates," he replied cheekily. He pulled her coat from the pile and helped her pull it around her shoulders. Shrugging into his own almost new coat, Bates shook himself to better settle it across his back. He thrust his hands in the pockets and jostled the coat from side to side. "This coat, on the other hand, just does not want to get broken in."

Anna smiled as she pinned her hat. "Mr. Bates, when are you going to stop grousing about your old coat? You look very dapper in the new one."

"You know something, Mrs. Bates? You're right," Bates took her arm and tucked it in his own. "I am so very tired of talking about that old coat. Let's find something new to talk about. What do you think about Lady Rose and Mr. Branson?"

"Sounds like part two of Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson to me," Anna mused.

Bates pursed his lips and considered her words. "You might have a point there. Hmmm . . ."

"Oh stop brooding and take me home, Mr. Bates," Anna slapped his forearm playfully. "I was hoping we could work on that 'one thing' tonight."

"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Bates."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: You know that fourth wall thing? Yeah, there's a big crack in that wall. And, of course, I should have thrown in an obligatory disclaimer in my first chapter, but since it was practically another millennium when I last wrote fanfic, I most abjectly beg forgiveness for my forgetfulness. If I did own Downton, well, let's just say that Anna would not have Bates, because I would own him, and therefore, he would be mine, all mine.**

_**The Author's Note: I have recently become aware of some dissatisfaction amongst a few of my characters. I am aware of this heresy and will take whatever steps I feel are necessary to guide my people along their pre-ordained paths. I love all of my characters and have only their greater good in mind. I have no desire to "punish" any character who oversteps his or her place, but I must consider the overall story arc. The actions of a few could have potentially far-reaching effects; multiple universes may be in jeopardy. Please do not aid and abet these dangerous few. Consider this fair warning. If you continue to read this story, even your own storylines could be in grave danger.**_

Bates took Baxter's elbow to guide her more quickly through the attic corridors. "Where are we?" she asked. "I've never seen this part of the house before."

"Not many have been up here," Bates replied. "His Lordship actually showed it to me about a year or so after I started here. I'm not sure if he completely grasps the significance, however."

Baxter nodded. "Yes, he does seem to see significance in everything, except what is actually going on around him, doesn't he?" Her hands flew to her mouth. "Did I say that aloud?" she asked, glancing about furtively.

"It's this part of the house," Bates explained. "It can have strange effects on you. Be very careful. And I won't comment about His Lordship, except to say he seems to see more significance in his dog and his cricket than anything else."

They turned another corner and found themselves plunged into darkness. Baxter grasped Bates' arm, then pulled back in apology. "Don't worry," he said. "It caught me by surprise the first time and there wasn't even electricity up here then. It's darker than a cave up here, but the door is just ahead."

Bates pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and felt along the corridor walls, counting doors with a tap of his cane as he went. He stopped at the fourth door on the right. "Brace yourself," he warned, "there are some rather odd . . . artifacts in this room." Bates slowly unlocked and opened the door and then watched Baxter as she surveyed the room. Good, he thought, her curiosity was evident by her facial expression. She likely was every bit as intelligent as he expected. The plan could work.

Bates glanced about as Baxter took in the room's décor more slowly. Nothing had changed since his last visit here. The large windows to the right let in the light of the full moon. Bates knew the room they were in was near the pinnacle of the Abbey's vast attics, far from the servants' quarters near the back of the house. There was a fire burning brightly in the rather average sized hearth. Two low, overstuffed chairs sat before it with a small table between them. A couple of candlesticks graced the mantle, along with the other items Baxter was sure to notice soon enough. But her attention was captivated, as his had been, by the strange, rather small motion picture screen hanging on the wall above the mantle. Bates didn't know what else to call it. It resembled the large screens they showed pictures on in Ripon and York, but the pictures were far more life-like, with full, rich colors. It was also currently showing a conversation that Anna and Lady Mary were having as Anna dressed her for dinner. Bates knew that the brooch Anna wore was one he had helped her pin on this very morning. She had pricked herself on the pin and he had pinned it for her but not quite in the right place. Not that she had minded when he had kissed the pain in her finger away and then proceeded to kiss the others, just for good measure, and then—Focus, man, focus, he thought, that was part of why he was here, of course, but there was so much else that needed to be done.

"Is that . . . are we seeing what is happening . . ." Baxter was clearly dumbfounded by what she saw on the screen. "That dress . . . draped across the bed . . . Lady Mary wore that today?" While she seemed certain of Lady Mary's wardrobe, she clearly questioned that she was truly viewing the two women as they interacted in the rooms below.

"I don't know how it works," Bates answered. "I just know that it does."

"But that's happening now," Baxter replied, regaining her equilibrium. "How does that help us steal our storylines?"

Bates smirked. "For that, we'll need those items on the mantle." He watched Baxter cross the room and carefully pick up one item in each hand. She then set the flat item down and ran both hands over the apparently clear glass bottle that had been on the mantle.

"It's not glass," she marveled. "It's as clear, clearer even, than any glass I've ever seen, but it's so lightweight." She took the bottle again and shook it. "Is this water inside?"

"Water, yes," Bates assured her, "but not like any water I've found elsewhere." He watched her as she lightly tossed the bottle from one hand to the other. "I have no clue what it's made from," he continued. "Even the cap is a strange material. It unscrews like a jar lid, but it's blue."

"Is this other a picture screen like the one on the wall?" Baxter asked, exchanging the odd bottle of water for the flat item. "But it has buttons like a typewriter keys. And what does it say at the top? 'Amazonkindle'? What does that even mean? A fire in the rain forest?"

"It's a little complicated," Bates said, taking the artifact, which is the only word he felt comfortable using for it, out of her hands. "Sit down, and I'll try to explain."

Baxter settled gracefully into one of the chairs, looking up at Bates expectantly. He lowered himself far more heavily into the other chair, hooking his cane on the edge of the table. He turned the artifact over in his hands a couple of times and then set it on the table beside him as well. "You understand that we, all of us, all of this, exists inside The Author's mind, right?"

"I suppose I've always sensed that in some fashion," Baxter replied. "Doesn't that imply that He can always know what we're doing, what we're saying, thinking even?"

"Not entirely," Bates said. "Sometimes his focus is elsewhere. Our lives continue, but without as much direction as they do other times. This room, it's a sort of . . . window, so to speak, into The Author's mind. Into other portions of His mind."

Baxter looked about, seeming to view the room for the first time again. She looked back to Bates. "So how do we go through this window then?" she asked.

"I'm glad you asked." Bates smiled tightly as he spoke, and then twisted and picked up the artifact. "Fetch that non-glass bottle, would you?"

Baxter retrieved the bottle from the mantle and handed it to Bates. "What you do," he said, "is take a sip of the water and—"

"Just a minute," Baxter interrupted. "Are you sure that it works? That it's safe?"

"I'm completely certain," Bates replied. "It is a little unnerving, but it is safe. I've done this several times myself."

Baxter looked at him quizzically. "The why haven't you done this before? Changed the storyline? You and Mrs. Bates have certainly suffered enough over the years if the rumors and stories are to be believed. You could have done something about that long ago. Why now? Or why not write in a suddenly dead rich uncle for you or Mrs. Bates with enough of an inheritance to leave Downton completely?"

Bates chuckled. "I did actually, only it wasn't an uncle, it was an almost father-in-law and that's what it took to save the estate. I was trying to avert my own arrest and imprisonment, but I wasn't quick enough. I was able to set things in motion for Mr. Crawley to save Downton. I was able to make that change because the script was left out. Everywhere I look now they seem to always be under lock and key. I am not doing any of this for my own profit, Miss Baxter, but to correct the egregious wrongs that have been foisted on several members of this household."

"What changes do you hope to make?" Baxter asked. "Besides giving yourself and Mrs. Bates a child?"

"All in good time, Miss Baxter, all in good time." Bates held the bottle out toward her. "So you take a sip and then—"

"I haven't actually said that I would do this," Baxter equivocated. "I have promised to not commit any crime ever again."

"This isn't really stealing, Miss Baxter," Bates spoke earnestly. "It is righting a wrong, several wrongs, setting things right."

"Will you promise me that you will change something that gets Thomas, Mr. Barrow, to leave me alone?"

"Yes," Bates promised.

"Very well, then," Baxter sighed. "Tell me what to do."

Bates leaned forward eagerly, his eyes glinting fiercely in anticipation. He spoke rapidly. "Take a sip of the water while you're holding this artifact. Press this button right here." He showed her a depression on the side of the device. "Stare at the screen and within moments you'll be sucked in."

"How do I get back out? Back here?" she asked.

Bates eyed her warily. "You have to will yourself back," he said. "This is the dangerous part because you may end up in . . . other places . . . other times even. It can be very disorienting. You may see yourself, or others you know, living very different lives. When you've accomplished what you need to accomplish, you need to focus on this exact room with me in it. The first time I went in, it took me quite a while to find my way back. I saw myself in some very compromising positions, doing a wide assortment of odd things. I saw Anna . . . well never mind what I saw Anna doing. I saw His Lordship die, only he was not the Earl of Grantham we know, but another man with the same face. As I said, it was disorienting."

"What, exactly, do I have to do?"

"When you get there, you'll probably be in a corridor of some sort. Look for a door that says 'Series 5.' It will be locked, and you'll have to find a way in. Once you're in, get all the scripts you can and then carry them to a door labeled 'amazonkindle' just like it says here on the artifact. When you do that, I'll be able to see them here, on the artifact, and make the changes. Once I've finished, you then return the scripts to the 'Series 5' room and will yourself back here."

"How will I know when you've finished?" Baxter asked.

Bates pursed his lips in thought. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'll need some time to read what's coming and determine how best to work the changes in. I can't change much from the past, but if it hasn't been directly addressed recently, I can make some adjustments." Bates considered a possible answer. "It's possible that you may see the changes appear as I make them. Watch the scripts as I work. If that doesn't work, I'm not sure. Just give me enough time to read and alter what's there."

"Will you be able to see me while I'm there? On the big screen on the wall? Will we be able to communicate?"

"Jules Verne fan, are you?" Bates asked. "I can adjust the picture on the wall to show me different scenes The Author has written or visualized. Sometimes I think there might be many Authors, all writing different stories. Just like you can read a book and call the scenes to mind later, even though you didn't create them. I think The Author may be the same. Some things, like our world, He has created. Others, other people, other worlds, maybe He created them or maybe other Authors have and He's read them or viewed them, like a motion picture. But they are all tumbling about in his mind. That's why you have to be very careful, and very focused on the task at hand."

"Give me the artifact then," Baxter ordered. "Let's change our fates."

Bates handed her the artifact. She took a sip of the water and handed him the bottle. She swished the liquid around in her mouth for a moment and then depressed the button on the side of the artifact. The small screen lit up with an odd symbol. Baxter stared at it intently. Bates stared at Baxter intently. He had never watched someone else make this journey before.

Nothing was happening. Baxter sat there, dutifully staring at the screen. Bates let out the deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding and looked up at the screen above the mantle. Daisy was having dinner with Mr. Mason, telling him about her math studies. He heard a soft thud beside him and turned back to Baxter. The artifact was resting on the cushion of the chair.

Miss Baxter was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_We live in an era of tremendous dishonesty where people, even nice people, will say things they know are not true because they want to be perceived as someone who thinks they are true. But I think this is dangerous. I think personal dishonesty in a society is as dangerous as it is in an individual. For most of us the biggest journey in life, and certainly the toughest journey, is towards self-knowledge. _

–_Julian Fellowes_

Baxter wended her way along the narrow corridors. Every few feet she passed a door. All of the doors were closed. Most seemed to be perfectly plain, rather ordinary doors. One or two had what appeared to be multiple locks near the frame. Baxter wondered what The Author might need to guard so fiercely within His own mind. She marveled that the corridors, and she had made many turns from one passageway to another, were all well-lit. As yet she could find no source of the light, no windows, no candles, no lamps of any kind. She mused that perhaps the light was a sign of a well-ordered mind.

Or perhaps she had brought the light with her. Was she really in The Author's mind, or was this all happening within her own mind? How was she to know the difference? The water had been relatively tasteless, but could Mr. Bates have poisoned her in some way? He had certainly seemed sincere in his desire to change, not only his own storyline, but hers and others' as well. And he had agreed to do something about Thomas . . .

Each of the doors was labeled with a small card. Bates had told her which doors to look for, but she hadn't seen either the "Series 5" or "amazonkindle" door yet. Would seeing those doors confirm that she was actually inside The Author's mind? Or just further confirm her suspicions that she was wandering in some sort of dream? Perhaps it was all a dream, from her first encounter with Mr. Bates in the courtyard. Still, she had never dreamt about Mr. Bates before. There was most definitely another who occupied her dreams.

She passed doors labeled "Fauntleroy," "Pauper," and "Investigates" on her left. On the right was a larger door labeled "Acting." It was slightly ajar. Cautiously, Baxter nudged the door open wider only to reveal yet another corridor with yet more labeled doors. Holding the doorknob tightly, she leaned into the corridor and could see labels such as "Monarch," "Shadowlands," and "Chuzzlewit." She shook her head in confusion and backed into what she thought of as the main corridor. She closed the door to the "Acting" corridor, carefully leaving it as she had found it.

The next door on the left was labeled "Gosford." Baxter wondered if it bore any relation to the town in Australia her cousin had moved to. Curious, she opened the door and came face-to-face with the Dowager Countess. Baxter blinked and retreated into the doorway. The Dowager, who looked a bit more modern than Baxter had ever seen her, said, "The time to make up your mind about people is never." The Dowager then vanished and was replaced by scenes of people at a dinner party. Baxter quickly retreated.

She passed doors labeled "Young Victoria" and "Tourist" before arriving at an oversized door labeled "Downton" on her left. "This seems promising," she said aloud and opened the door. This door also led to a corridor filled with yet more doors. Baxter could glimpse doors bearing cards with familiar names on them – "Grantham," "Bates," "Dowager," and "Lady Cora" among them. Curiouser, she opened Lady Cora's door and was suddenly presented with an image of a very young Lady Cora standing stark naked in a room with two young men, neither of whom was Lord Grantham. Baxter ducked back into the hallway and firmly closed the door. She leaned against it, gathering her wits.

Sure she would regret the choice, she peeked inside the "Dowager" door and again saw a vision of Lady Grantham who simply could not be the Lady Grantham she knew. This Dowager Countess was dressed in flowing black robes with a conical witch's cap perched on her head. She was striding down the steps of an ancient castle in commanding form, surrounded by dozens of young people. When the Dowager-who-was-not-the-Dowager raised what looked like an actual magic wand and sent a blue electric arc in Baxter's direction, the lady's maid sought refuge in the corridor again. Cracking the door open once more, Baxter saw that the old witch had vanished, replaced by a grandmotherly figure standing at the base of a stairway in town home clearly decorated for Christmas. Standing near the woman, who seemed to be simultaneously both an older and younger version of the Dowager, was a family with two young children. The elderly woman looked at the father and said, "So, Peter, you've become a pirate."

Back in the corridor, Baxter eyed the other doors with trepidation. What might she find behind Mr. Bates' door, or His Lordship's? Or worse, suppose there was a door with Thomas' name on it further down the way? These alternate versions of both Lady Granthams were disturbing enough. Still, she was curious. But then, how much time did she actually have available? How much time had passed in the attic room before she had stepped through the rabbit hole, as it were? She did not expect the Lord and Lady back much before midnight; Mr. Bates had insisted that Mrs. Bates go home without him when she finished with Lady Mary for the day. And odd as they were, the scenes behind the doors were a bit intriguing. Did The Author have dreams about His characters? Did He imagine them in other storylines? Baxter certainly hoped she never saw old Lady Grantham whip out a magic wand. She touched the door that said "Bates" hesitantly and glanced further down the passageway. Could there be a door with her own name? What fantastic sights might she find there? Or, she paused self-consciously, behind Mr. Molesley's door?

Pulling herself from her reverie, Baxter opened the Bates door. Relieved to not be faced with Mr. Bates covered in blood or escaping from an insane asylum, she took in much calmer surroundings than she had expected. She was in yet another corridor, but this one was wider and clearly illuminated by overhead lights. A hotel, she thought, and a very nice one. She turned, intuitively looking for Mr. Bates. Instead, as she turned, she was all but bowled over by a woman barreling out of a room, lugging a suitcase behind her. As she stumbled, the door behind her closed and vanished.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" the woman exclaimed. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I'm quite all right," Baxter said, smoothing the front of her dress. The woman before her was about her age, blonde, and seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. Baxter looked about frantically, seeking some sign of the door which had been just behind her.

"Do you work here?" the woman asked quizzically. "It's only that I'm checking out, and I need a taxi. Can you help me?"

"I may need some help myself," Baxter replied. "I'm trying to find The Author . . . well, actually, I'm trying to not find him . . . but I need to get back to where I belong, or at least where I was." She took a deep breath in hopes of settling her nerves. "Where am I? Is Mr. Bates here?"

"I don't know anyone named Bates," the woman replied, "but there are dozens of authors downstairs. I've been here for a writer's seminar."

"Are you an Author?" Baxter asked, incredulous.

"I'm not sure I'd use a capital 'A,'" she answered. "I just dabble in children's stories. Do you need to sit down?" The woman seemed very kind, taking time to help a stranger when she was obviously in a hurry to be somewhere else.

"I . . . I . . . perhaps I should sit down," Baxter agreed, suddenly feeling unsteady. The woman took her hand and led her back into the room she had just left. Baxter braced herself as they crossed the threshold, but it was just an ordinary hotel room. Well, Lady Grantham would find it ordinary, she supposed. The room was quite grand. The woman gestured for her to sit in a chair near the fireplace and stepped into the next room. A dressing room or a bath room, Baxter wondered. She returned with a bottle similar to the one in the attic room. Baxter eyed it suspiciously.

"You really are knackered, aren't you?" the woman asked. "Here, I'll open it." She handed the bottle back with the cap removed. Uncertain, Baxter nevertheless took a careful sip. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, surprised at how parched she had become without realizing it. Opening her eyes, she wasn't certain if she was relieved or disappointed that she remained in the hotel room with the blonde woman, sitting by the empty fireplace.

"Thank you," Baxter whispered. "I'm so sorry to keep you."

"I'm Jan, by the way, Jan Starling," the woman smiled and held out her hand.

"Baxter," she answered. "Phyllis Baxter. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Oh no, I'm not nearly as grand as this room might suggest," Jan waved off Baxter's deference. "It's just Jan."

"But you are an Author, Mrs. Starling?" Baxter's ingrained sense of propriety would not permit her to be so informal with The Author's equal.

Jan Starling looked at her with something like understanding. "You're not from here, are you? I mean, you're not from this story." The last was clearly a statement, not a question.

"No," Baxter coughed to cover her squeak. She needed to recover the boldness that led her here if she was to find a way out. "I'm from Downton Abbey."

"I'm afraid I don't know that one," Mrs. Starling replied, "but if you come with me I can introduce to our Authors. They live with me, and maybe they can help."

"Your Authors live with you?" Baxter did not understand how that could be. Perhaps Mrs. Starling did not really understand.

"Well, they don't go around saying they're our Authors," she went on, "but I know they are. One of them is my nephew and the other is my brother-in-law. Maybe that's why I write; maybe being an Author runs in the family," she began to muse aloud to herself. "If Fergie can do it, maybe I can to. All I have to do is write myself into the story."

"I'm sorry," Baxter interrupted, "can you help me get back to The Author's mind? I was in the corridor, and there was a door that said 'Bates' on it. I know Mr. Bates. We work together at the Abbey. I need to get back there so we can . . ." Baxter caught herself. "Well, I was trying to find something."

"I was trying to find something, too," Jan said. "But then my husband sent me a picture of himself and I realized that I already had it."

"A picture?" Baxter asked, looking around.

"Well, it's a little embarrassing," Jan said, reaching into a bag beside her. She pulled out a small device similar to the amazonkindle in the attic room. There was a small screen and only a few buttons with odd symbols on them below the screen. The device was smaller than Mr. Bates' artifact. "Here, this is him," Jan said as she pressed a staccato sequence of buttons and taps on the screen. She held the device out to Baxter who took it.

"That's Mr. Bates!" Baxter said, blushing. Because it was Mr. Bates as she had certainly never seen him before, and likely never would again. The very small screen showed a strikingly clear and colorful image of a very relaxed Mr. Bates in a suit jacket and tie, but with no trousers on. He wore only a very short pair of blue and white striped boxers beneath his shirt and suit coat. Baxter was certain she would never be able to look Mr. or Mrs. Bates in the eye again after seeing this odd photograph.

"No, that's Terry," Jan said. "My husband, Terry Starling."

Baxter gripped the device more tightly. "This is worse than the witch and the naked Lady Grantham," she muttered to herself. "But this is a connection to Mr. Bates." She took another deep breath and ventured further into unknown territory. "Mrs. Starling, do I understand that you are both an Author and a character?"

"I suppose so," Jan replied. "I've never thought of myself as an Author, just a writer, but I guess to my own characters, I am an Author."

"Have you ever tried to change your own storyline?"

Mrs. Starling's eyes widened. "You mean, highjack the story from Fergie and Loz? I could never do that! It's their story, too. I mean, it is their story. They write it, but they're in it, too. Even though sometimes I think they don't realize that we know they are the Authors. Although, you know, Terry might not see it. Always very literal, my Terry."

"Do you think it could be done, though?" Baxter pressed on with her question. "If a character wanted to change their storyline, could they?"

"If I really wanted to change my storyline, I would just ask Fergie," Jan replied. "I've been a little uncomfortable with this business of my teacher having a thing for me lately, but it's worked out all right. I know that Terry's worth ten Stephens."

"Mr. Bates thinks he can change our storylines," Baxter confessed. "I'm trying to find where they are so I can get them to him. But somehow, I ended up here and I don't know how to get back."

"I just write stories about invisible blue rhinoceroses," Jan explained. "I have no idea how to help you get back to where you belong."

"Do you have any other pictures of your husband, Mrs. Starling? Maybe something a little more . . . complete? You've given me an idea."

Mrs. Starling took the device from her hand – Baxter's grip on it was still deathlike – and tapped the screen several more times. Then she swiped her finger across it, first rapidly, then slowly. "Here's a good one," she said. "Terry doesn't wear a suit very often, but he sure does wear one well." She sighed and handed the device back to Baxter. "That was taken at a funeral for my father-in-law's friend."

Baxter nodded even though Mrs. Starling's words were slightly confusing. How could a photograph so lifelike get into such a small device? "This is more like Mr. Bates," she said when she viewed the picture. "Hopefully, this is good-bye, Mrs. Starling. Thank you so much for your help." Baxter took another cautious sip from the bottle of water and swiped the screen as she had seen her new friend do. She began to think of herself as invisible to Mrs. Starling. She stared at the picture of Mr. Starling/Mr. Bates and focused her thoughts on Mr. Bates' name, just his name. She mentally drew back from his name spelled on the card and envisioned the door she had stepped through. She closed her eyes and felt the same thinning sensation she had felt when she stepped through the amazonkindle window.

When she opened them, she stood in the corridor before the door that said 'Bates.' With a forceful sigh of satisfaction, she glanced about at the other doors. All the doors near her bore the names of others that she knew – "Mrs. Hughes," "Mr. Carson," and "Daisy" were followed by those she had heard of but never met – "O'Brien," "William," and "Lavinia Swire." After her experiences so far, she was not about to open any more doors than were strictly necessary to complete her task. Even the door that said "Molesley" was now only a passing temptation. She continued down the passageway until she noticed a door labeled "Series 1."

"This looks promising," she muttered to herself as she trailed her hand along the door and the wall beyond it. "Series 2" and "Series 3" followed shortly. Baxter shuddered as she passed the third door; a feeling of death seemed to emanate from within. Finally, she stood before the "Series 5" door. She turned and saw the door across the hall read "amazonkindle." Uncertain of what she might discover within, she slowly turned the door knob and entered the Series 5 room. It struck her only briefly that Mr. Bates had said the room was locked. Perhaps it was locked to him because The Author had been aware of Mr. Bates' past attempts at changing the storyline. Or, perhaps The Author was just as fooled as her previous employer and trusted her implicitly. Then again, maybe The Author wanted the storylines to change and needed their help to do so. Maybe this was all a part of the story. If The Author wrote her to be a thief, intended for her to be a thief, and she stole, did that make it truly wrong, if she was only doing what she was created to do?

The room was disappointingly bare. There were nine desks in the room, each facing the wall. Upon each desk was a book. Two of the books were closed, while the others remained open. She ran her fingers over the spine of the first volume and tried to open it. The book refused to open. Likewise the second. Mr. Bates had said that it was hard to change the past, so perhaps the events in these books were unalterable. As she approached the third desk, the book gracefully closed itself as though an unseen hand had reached out and gently pressed it shut. The fluttering pages sent a slight breeze toward Baxter. She quickly picked up the fourth volume and kept it carefully open. She wasn't sure if the book would stay closed if she shut it, but she was not about to find out. With equal care, she stacked the five remaining volumes together, and carried them out the door and across the hall.

Bates realized he had no idea how much time had passed. It seemed as though Baxter had left only moments ago, and yet it seemed as though he had been waiting a lifetime. He had long since watched Anna make her solitary way home to their cottage. He hated to send her home alone, anything could happen, after all, but she was now safely ensconced in their bed, hopefully dreaming of him.

To occupy his thoughts, he reviewed his list of possible storyline alterations. A child for Anna and himself, first and foremost, though just how to arrange it he wasn't certain. If Mother Nature had taken her natural course instead of The Author's odd dictates, they should have had a child within his first year of being released from prison. There was just no reason, no reason, he muttered to himself darkly. And perhaps it was time for that rich dead uncle, after all, and time for them to make an old dream come true. What, exactly, to do with Baxter and Molesley's storyline? Carson and Mrs. Hughes? Anna would like that. But then again, maybe it was too soon for that. Mr. Branson certainly deserved to be happy, settled, and at ease with his surroundings. His Lordship needed to wake up and come to appreciate the changes the world was going through. And then there was Lord Gillingham, who was most definitely not the hand Bates wanted to see guiding Downton and the Crawley family into the next generation. No, young Master George would need a much more selfless mentor. And then there was Thomas. Bates smirked as he considered the ubiquitous under-butler. Thomas' storyline would probably be the easiest to arrange.

A soft tone caught his attention. There was a small blinking symbol on the artifact. Bates picked it up and scrolled through the files contained inside as he had painstaking learned to do. And there they were, six scripts of upcoming episodes. He opened the first file and settled down to read.

**Author's Note: I really had hoped to have this all finished before this week's episode (S5E3). However, Baxter (and Jan Starling!) sort of got away from me. Characters do that sometimes, you know. I am posting this about half an hour before S5E3 airs. So we'll see what happens tonight and then see what Bates chooses to do. As ever, I don't own DA, or Starlings, or any other copyrighted material referred to above, however obliquely. If I did, Jan would be commiserating with Anna, because then I would own Terry as well as John Bates, and well, what more could a girl ask for?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Okay, originally, I expected to crack this whole story out in a one or two-shot over the course of the weekend, but then Baxter and Jan ran away with it. I like what they did. So I seriously thought about just leaving it there, and letting Bates take credit for the "changes" that seemed to be coming out in episodes 4 and 5. However, while we do seem to be edging closer to a Baby Bates, Baxter still isn't getting a fair shake, as the elusive "Mr. Coyle" sounds as though he would have been a good match for the "better still the late Mrs. Bates." So here we are, having wild and completely appropriate fun with where storylines could be if this author let her imagination run rampant and Bates exercised his somewhat more considered and controlled hand over the proceedings. This is being posted before S5E6 airs, so obviously utterly AU from S5E5 on. The previews have me a bit nervous about episode 6, so I've enjoyed diving into my own little Bates-iverse for a while to fortify myself. There's rather a lot packed in here, but I wanted to get it all over and done with. Happy Downton Day, everyone!**

Bates sauntered home in the moonlight, even the occasionally rough patches along the path now so well-known his cane knew the way as well as he did. He had read all the scripts Baxter had stolen the same night, and had been able to make some small adjustments right away. Time had been short, however, and they had both needed to be on hand when the Earl and Countess returned from their dinner with friends. He had not been presented with another opportunity to visit the attic room where the artifact was stored until His Lordship had, surprisingly, chosen to return to Downton rather early from the regimental dinner. Since Anna had already returned to their cottage, and would not be expecting to see him until mid-morning anyway, as soon as His Lordship bounded up the stairs to greet his wife, Bates slipped into the servants' staircase and raced to the attic to see to his own wife, although in a slightly different manner. Satisfied that the lives of those he cared for, as well as those he pitied or tolerated, and even a few he had never met, would now travel along more acceptable paths, he looked forward to slipping into bed with Anna for the few hours remaining before they both had to return to the Abbey. He found himself looking forward to the return of his perfect life.

He opened the bedroom door softly. His smile widened along with the gap in the doorway. She was sound asleep, but was turned so she faced him. She held his pillow cuddled close to her as though it were himself – or their child, he thought briefly, and his smile grew still further in anticipation. He shed his clothing swiftly and silently and slipped in beside her. As he gently extracted his pillow from her embrace, she held it more tightly for a moment, then her eyes flew open and her own sleepy but brilliant smile greeted his.

"You're home?" she asked softly, clearly delighted, but puzzled. "Is everything all right?" She regarded him intently, as though reading his very soul, which she could do more fluently than any other, he well knew.

"_Everything _is more than all right," he responded in a tone smooth as the moonlight on the window sill. "The dinner ended a little early, and His Lordship saw no reason to stay the night. I had a few things to finish up at the house, and knew you wouldn't miss me yet, so I-"

"Silly beggar," Anna interrupted, "I always miss you when you're gone." She slipped her arms around him as he settled the pillow behind his head. "Don't you ever think otherwise."

"And I, you," he replied, kissing her cheek. He trailed his kiss to her ear and down the line of her jaw as he gently turned her so her back was to his front. He gathered her as close as she had held his pillow and breathed into her ear, "I love you, Anna, so very much."

He could feel her smile in the way she squirmed and settled into him more deeply. She sighed as his right hand found its way to her stomach and stilled her movements.

"It will happen, Anna," he murmured as his thumb stroked a small path back and forth across her navel. "I promise you. It will happen."

"I do hope so," she murmured back. "But what if-"

Bates silenced her doubts with a still more passionate kiss. He then proceeded to prove once again to them both why there was no reason – _no reason at all, mind you_—why his promise should not come about.

He held her hand loosely as they came through the servants' entrance the next morning, only letting go reluctantly to remove hats and coats. He was taken aback when Daisy darted around the corner and descended upon his wife.

"Anna!" she practically squealed, "You'll not have heard." Her voice lowered to a near whisper, "Madge told us last night. It's unbelievable!" Daisy looked up at Bates, apparently trying to still her glee in some fashion. "And you, too, Mr. Bates," she continued in a calmer tone. "You'll find this interesting."

"Well then, Daisy," Anna said with a chuckle, "out with it." As she spoke, Bates hung his overcoat on its peg, studying the collar closely. He was fairly certain he had an inkling of what was coming.

"It's about Miss Baxter," Daisy whispered rapidly, her eyes darting to either side. "You won't believe it, but it turns out she—"

"DAISY!" Mrs. Patmore's bellow could probably be heard upstairs, all the way upstairs.

"Coming, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy shouted over her shoulder, very nearly in Bates' ear as he bent toward the women to hear the tale. He shook his head bemusedly and backed up a step. Daisy took Anna's hand and squeezed it. "Madge has the whole story. Sorry, Mr. Bates," she added as she rushed past him to the kitchen.

Anna raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Well, what do you suppose all that was about?"

Bates took a deep breath and huffed it out. "I'm sure I couldn't guess," he said with a smirk of his own. "Just as I'm sure you're going to hunt Madge down to find out."

"Right you are, Mr. Bates," she said as she passed him, trailing her fingertips along his arm. Just as she lost contact with him she turned her head back to regard him. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"I am forever joined to you, Mrs. Bates," he whispered as he dutifully followed. She tossed a satisfied smile over her shoulder just before she entered the servants' hall.

Madge sat one end of the table speaking in hushed tones with a couple of other maids. Thomas Barrow stood near the mantle, obviously listening, yet focusing his eyes on his cloud of smoke, trying to appear nonchalant. Bates was gratified, but not particularly surprised, when he saw Anna make her way to the other end of the table where Miss Baxter sat alone. Anna put her hand on Baxter's shoulder and the pair exchanged a few words. Baxter shook her head briskly and left the room. This was the one thread that Bates was unsure of: _Would Miss Baxter be able to remember her role in his highjacking of the storylines? Her storyline was certainly more interesting now, but would she appreciate his efforts?_

"Well?" he asked as took a seat next to Anna.

"She only said that someone she used to know is in the house. It caught her off guard, she said." Anna patted his arm and waved him to his seat across the table as Daisy set a tray of toast on the table. "I'll let you know what I learn, Mr. Bates," she murmured.

Breakfast was a quiet affair as Mr. Carson would not hear gossip at the table. He kept his eye firmly fixed on Madge through most of the meal, only occasionally sweeping up the row to include Mr. Barrow in his steely gaze. Bates, on the other hand, spent most of breakfast drinking in his wife's perfection along with his tea, only occasionally trying to catch Mrs. Hughes' eye. He hoped to communicate his wish to speak with her without calling undue attention to either of them. She never seemed to pick up on his attempts. Bates had just poured a second cup when Lord Grantham's bell rang with particular force.

"That's you, Mr. Bates," Carson intoned unnecessarily, still training his baleful stare on the younger staff members.

Bates rose and winked at Anna as he left the table. It gave him no small delight to see a slight blush drift across her cheeks. She did look particularly beautiful this morning.

His Lordship was anything but beautiful this morning. Bates noticed that the bed in the dressing room had been slept in, but knew better than to comment. The Earl of Grantham, however, really had no one else in whom he could confide.

"Thirty-four years, Bates," he spoke each syllable in clipped tones. "Thirty-four years."

"You have a lot to show for those years, m'lord," Bates offered cautiously.

"Do I?" His Lordship wondered. "I suppose I do," he sighed his agreement. He turned suddenly and looked Bates square in the eye. "You've been married twice, Bates." He paused as though expecting a response to his statement.

"I have m'lord," Bates answered. "Though the second has been far more fulfilling than the first."

"Exactly my point," Lord Grantham emphasized his words with a jabbing point toward his valet. "You know better than most the difference between a good marriage and a difficult one."

Bates lifted his brows and nodded in a sideways manner as he held Lord Grantham's waistcoat open for him. The earl slipped his arms through the holes and fastened up the buttons. Bates took the suit coat from its hanger and eased it over the earl's shoulders. Knowing that a response was expected, Bates offered diplomatically, "You have a good marriage, m'lord, undeniably. Lady Grantham is kind, and true, and unwaveringly constant."

Grantham looked at Bates as though wondering what he knew. And while Lord Grantham had first introduced Bates to the strange attic room, he doubted that his employer had enough imagination to fully appreciate the possibilities. "As you say, m'lord, I know the difference," he offered with a shrug.

Grantham sat on the edge of the bed, unusually weary for so early in the day. "Not outside this room, Bates," he stated firmly. "On your honor."

"As ever, my lord," Bates affirmed.

"I don't think anything actually happened, but he was in the room," Grantham eyed Bates significantly. "In our room."

Bates took a deep breath and thrust his own nightmares back. "A man may force his way while a woman may be helpless to protect herself." He turned toward the window and swallowed convulsively. He was still uncertain just what the earl did or didn't know about his own recent past. But he had mentioned learning of Lady Mary's indiscretion years ago.

"I truly had not considered that," Grantham replied thoughtfully. "And I should have, all things considered. Thank you, Bates."

"My lord," Bates was hesitant, "there are times when, as men, we must pull up the drawbridge and defend the castle from interlopers. But we must not force our own into the company of strangers. We have to hold them closer at those times."

"Indeed?" He wondered if Grantham was fishing for more information. "Well, we'll see. You may be right, Bates. I'm out with Branson for the morning."

Bates followed Grantham from the dressing room. Miss Baxter brushed his arm as she passed by with Lady Grantham's breakfast tray. She glared at him briefly and then moved on. _There's that question probably answered then,_ Bates thought to himself.

Shortly before luncheon, Bates found himself alone in the servants' hall. He had seen Anna briefly earlier. She had mentioned that she was accompanying Lady Mary into Ripon and may not be back until the gong. He had a few items that needed mending spread before him. He always enjoyed sitting and working next to Anna. Even when they were silent, her presence made the time fly. This morning, waiting for what he knew would come later, seemed to drag on interminably.

"Are you responsible for this?" Miss Baxter asked him pointedly as she swiftly took the seat beside him.

"If you're certain that I am responsible, you must surely recall that you are equally culpable," he calmly replied, keeping his eyes on his work.

"I wanted a change, yes," she agreed. "But not this! The truth is now a lie to cover up a lie that is still strangely true," she all but hissed at him.

"I admit, I wasn't sure how much you would remember," Bates said, glancing around the room to be certain there were no unwelcome ears. "I think it's because you know about the room. I thought you would appreciate a more exciting back story."

"Exciting?" she parroted. "Thanks to you and Lord Flintshire, Lady Grantham now believes that I was a double agent spy during the war and my tale of theft was just a cover story. Lord Flintshire believes that I worked for him and that I still have contacts in Germany who may be able to locate that Mr. Gregson that Lady Edith has been pining over as long as I've been here." She put her head in her hands. "And oddly enough," she added, looking up again, "I know that I do have contacts in Germany. I think I may have even already contacted them because I seem to know that Lord Flintshire asked me to several days ago. Of course, you know that, too, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Bates replied. He gathered his mending and stood to leave. "Enjoy your notoriety while it lasts, Miss Baxter. This, too, shall pass." He paused in the doorway. "And, if it's at all possible, do please find Mr. Gregson. Several people's happiness may depend upon it."

"Oh, Mr. Bates, there you are," Carson exclaimed as he bustled through the doorway opposite. "Lady Rose has invited several of her Russians to stay. They'll arrive shortly before dinner and we need to get rooms sorted for them. Can you help?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." Bates held the mending out. "Only let me get these put away."

"Good," Carson puffed his chest out. "Now to inform Mrs. Hughes."

"I'm headed that way, Mr. Carson," Bates said. "I can let her know, if you like?"

"Thank you, Mr. Bates." Carson turned on his heel toward the kitchen.

Mending tucked up under his left arm, Bates hooked his cane on his wrist and knocked softly on Mrs. Hughes' sitting room door. After her curt yet still lilting, "Come in," he slowly edged open the door and slipped inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it.

"Mr. Bates?" Her tone was clearly concerned. "Are you all right?"

Bates caught her gaze and held it. He had long had his suspicions and while his reading hadn't completely confirmed them, it had nearly so. He maintained eye contact until she looked away, slumping slightly in defeat.

"I know," he said softly.

She faced the wall away from him. "And what is it do you think you know, Mr. Bates?" There was a slight quaver in her voice.

"You know what I'm referring to, Mrs. Hughes," he stated. "I know because I was there. And so were you."

"I didn't kill him," she gasped. "At least, I never meant to." She turned swiftly and met his gaze boldly this time. "Or maybe I did mean to. After what he did, death was too good for him. But I didn't actually kill him. It was a horrible, horrible accident."

"I agree," Bates spoke softly still. "Death was too good for him. I wanted him to suffer, not necessarily die. But in the end, perhaps it has been better this way. Except for the doubts she has about me, Anna has all but healed from his attack."

"I know you were there," said Mrs. Hughes. "I found the ticket stub in your coat pocket."

"The one that went to the refugees?" Bates nodded, answering his own question. "I thought as much. At first, I wondered why you said nothing, though I was grateful. Then I began to put the pieces together. I saw you there, but I never saw him."

"I barely saw him," she admitted. "He was running, well walking very quickly toward me, as though he were trying to get away from someone. He kept looking back over his shoulder. He practically bumped into me. He said, 'What are you doing here?' and ran back the other way. He stumbled out into the street and the bus hit him. I ducked around the corner as the crowd gathered. It was grisly."

"So you never saw who was behind him? Who he was running from?" Bates asked gently.

"No," she insisted. "To be honest, I thought it was you."

Bates shook his head. "I had just turned onto the street when I saw the crowd around the bus and you off to one side. I was headed to Albany to have it out with him, but I wasn't going to kill him. Frog march him to a ship bound for Australia, perhaps, but not kill him. I saw you and took that as my warning that I was being foolish and rash. I knew Anna would not be pleased."

"She most certainly would not!" Her righteous indignation flared and faded in a flash. "Are you going to turn me in?" she asked.

"Of course not," Bates dismissed her concerns out of hand. "I only wanted you to know that I know, and I'm grateful for your friendship to Anna. And to myself. And to assure you that I think I've fixed it so no suspicion will fall upon you. I'm not entirely certain who Green was running from, but I have a likely suspect."

"Who?" she asked.

"All in good time, Mrs. Hughes," Bates replied sagely. "For now, Mr. Carson asked me to tell you that Lady Rose has invited several of her Russian friends to stay for a few days, along with a Mr. Atticus Aldridge. They should arrive separately before the gong. He's asked me to help sort some rooms and be on hand if any need assistance. Should make for a lively evening," he added with a smirk.

"And that's not the half of it," Mrs. Hughes shared. "Mr. Blake and Mr. Napier have invited themselves again. Lady Grantham says they may arrive any time. And then there's Isis curled up in a corner of the kitchen not caring to move, poor thing."

"I'll see to the dog first," Bates insisted. "With everything else that's going on, we can't have His Lordship worried about the dog."

"Not much we can do. I think she'll go at any time," she said.

After a few moments attempting to provide comfort to the canine, Bates helped Madge and Barrow prepare rooms for the sudden influx of guests and then joined the rest of the staff for a rather rushed luncheon. He missed Anna's easy confidence at times like these, but, along with everyone else, was grateful that Lady Mary remained out for the afternoon. Her acerbic tongue was rarely helpful when the staff was already under pressure.

Scarcely had luncheon ended when Bates came upon Lord Grantham practically sitting on the kitchen floor in front of his dog. He pulled a chair from Mrs. Patmore's desk and offered it to his employer.

"She's a grand old girl, isn't she?" Grantham asked.

"She is, indeed, m'lord," Bates agreed. He motioned to Mrs. Patmore who quietly directed junior staff members away from the corner of the kitchen His Lordship's dog had taken over. She then tugged on Mr. Bates' sleeve and whispered intently, "We're going to have nearly thirty for dinner tonight. We do need to keep working in here, Mr. Bates."

"I understand, Mrs. Patmore," he replied in equally hushed tones. He indicated the dog and the man paying court to her. "But what, exactly, do you expect me to do?"

"Three pups, at her age," Grantham marveled. "She's a treasure." The earl seemed to shake himself from his adoring reverie. "Let me know when she moves them, Bates," he ordered. "I'll be in the library."

"Of course, m'lord," Bates replied, somewhat at a loss. He glanced around and caught one of the young hall boys by the shoulder. "You, what's your name?"

"B-B-Brendan, Mr. B-B-Bates," the boy stammered, looking up, way up, at the imposing head valet.

"Good lad," Bates attempted to ease past his natural stoicism to put the youngster at ease. "Sit here, Brendan, and watch that dog. When she moves the pups, follow her, and then come find me. I need to know as soon as she does."

"Y-Y-Yes sir, Mr. B-B-Bates!" Brendan pulled himself up to his full height. "You c-c-can c-c-count on me, sir."

Bates clapped the boy on the shoulder. As he left he noticed the lad slump into the chair. Bates had rarely considered the effect he had on younger staff members, but young Brendan seemed as awed by himself as he had been by His Lordship.

Some time later, but still well before Carson was due to ring the gong, Bates strode through the servants' hall, intending to check in on Isis himself. While upstairs was now fully prepared for the arrival of so many assorted guests, downstairs was in an uproar. Had his mind not been so focused on His Lordship's relationship with both his dog and his wife, he would have seen her. As it was, he nearly knocked her over as she turned to greet him.

"Well that's a fine hello," Anna chided him as she clutched his forearms for support. She chuckled, easing his worries for her.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking in her brilliant smile, "I was miles away." He smiled back at her. "Or actually in the next room. Come and see." He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. With a gentle squeeze he dropped her hand and motioned her to look over young Brendan's shoulder. The lad was dutifully minding the dog, who was cleaning the pups yet again. Bates noticed that there were now four puppies cuddled against her.

"Hello, Brendan," Anna cooed as she patted the boy on the shoulder, "have you been given guard duty?" Bates wondered just how she managed to keep track of every last hall boy and scullery maid. He scarcely acknowledged their existence, while she seemed to genuinely know them.

"Yes, Mrs. B-B-Bates," Brendan's stutter seemed less pronounced as Anna's hand rested on him. Bates found himself suddenly oddly jealous of the boy. "As soon as she moves them, I'm to follow and then find Mr. B-B-Bates."

"They're darling, aren't they?" she asked, leaning a bit further over Brendan and sharing a smile with him. When he nodded, she added, "You're doing a very good job, Brendan. Mr. Bates chose well in putting you in charge here." She rubbed his shoulder briskly and stepped back.

"Can I speak to you a moment?" she then asked Bates, almost, but not quite, taking his hand again. As he followed Anna from the kitchen to the corridor, Bates noticed young Brendan's eyes follow Anna as well, the boy's smile nearly eclipsing Anna's. Bates paused and blocked the boy's view of his wife. As Brendan made reluctant eye contact with him, Bates pointed at Isis with a stern look. Brendan turned back to his charge, chastened, but not particularly downcast.

Bates joined Anna in the corridor, questioning her with a look.

"Not here," she said. "Outside?"

His eager nod was interrupted by Carson bustling down the corridor. "There you are, Mr. Bates. Anna, I'm glad you've returned. They'll arrive any moment, and I want a full staff to greet them." He brushed past them, obviously in search of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow.

"We'll be right there, Mr. Carson," Bates replied.

"Who will arrive any moment?" Anna asked.

"Twelve Russians, three suitors, and two grandmothers," Bates answered as they made their way out the door.

"Oh dear," Anna snickered. "All we need now is five gold rings and a partridge in a pear tree."

"The night is young, Mrs. Bates," he replied.

They joined the rest of the staff lined up before the front door of the Abbey. Bates freely admitted to himself that this was his least favorite part of his position. He respected Mr. Carson for wanting to put the house's best foot forward whenever guests arrived, but each and every time he wished he had never insisted that he join the staff for the first house guest since his arrival. In all the years since, he felt that he had never really lived down his ignominious fall at the Duke of Crowborough's feet. Even though everyone who mattered knew Miss O'Brien had been the cause, he still felt the need to prove himself. He suspected that no number of guests safely greeted would be sufficient to erase the disgrace from his own mind. And so he stood with the others, as close to attention as he could still muster, sometimes for an hour or more, his knee throbbing all the while, waiting.

His Lordship and Mr. Branson had come and gone three times before cars were spotted on the horizon. Branson shepherded the ladies into position, Lady Rose stepping forward a bit eagerly.

The cars that had been relieved of Russians had turned the corner around the house when Mr. Blake arrived, driving himself with Mr. Napier beside him. Lady Mary greeted both men warmly as the rest of the family milled about with the Russians. Lady Rose seemed torn between her Russian friends and Mr. Aldridge, whom the Russians seemed not to acknowledge. Bates noticed one relatively young man among the elder Russian nobles who seemed to be trying to make eye contact with Thomas. Satisfied, he turned his gaze to the horizon once more.

Another car was racing down the gravel drive. Bates had never seen a vehicle move quite that fast. At the same time, he saw Isis round the corner of the house, a pup grasped in her jaws. Young Brendan followed her, but pulled up short as he took in the family and the senior staff gathered in front of the house. Isis continued across the drive. Where she was bound, Bates had no idea. She had never hidden her pups out of the house before. As he mused on where she might be taking the pup, his eyes glazed over from the pain of standing in one place for so long, he suddenly registered the sound of squealing tires, spraying gravel, and a sickening crunch that he had never heard before but was somehow easily and immediately identifiable.

He roused himself to find Thomas lying in the gravel near the front wheel of Lord Gillngham's car. Thomas's left arm hung at an unnatural angle while his right cradled Isis and her pup. Both Lord Grantham and the young Russian kneeled at his side. Lord Gillingham jumped from behind the wheel and rushed to Lady Mary.

"It wasn't my fault, Mary!" he exclaimed. "I swear it wasn't my fault." He grasped her arms and shook her. "I did it for you, Mary, for us! I had to do it for you! It wasn't my fault!"

"That's enough, Tony," Mr. Blake inserted himself between them, easing Lady Mary from Gillingham's grasp. "Stand down, man."

"Barrow, my good chap," Lord Grantham helped ease Thomas into a sitting position. "What you won't do for my dog. Thank you!"

Thomas eased his grip on Isis, who accepted a brief caress behind the ears from her master, then shot off toward the open front door. Out of the corner of his eye, Bates noticed Brendan slip in behind her, unobserved by the rest in all the commotion. Yet another car was trundling down the drive.

Lord Gillingham was still trying to reach Lady Mary. Mr. Blake stood firmly in front of her, though she seemed to object to his interference as much as to Gillingham's manhandling. Mr. Branson came alongside Lord Gillingham, apparently trying to direct him toward the door. Prince Kuragin and Count Rostov turned their noses up at Mr. Aldridge, who seemed to only have eyes for Lady Rose. Lady Rose herself seemed torn between her Russian friends and Mr. Aldridge, though Mr. Aldridge seemed to be winning. The Dowager Countess was in her element, capturing Kuragin's and Rostov's full attention.

Thomas was staring at the young Russian who knelt beside him with something like wonder. The young man felt Thomas' arm gently. "Is okay," he said, his accent thick. "I am doctor. Arm is break." Bates could almost see the young man searching for the right words. "Arm is broke. We make well." He gingerly put his arm around Thomas' right shoulder and helped him to stand. As Thomas continued to stare deeply into the young doctor's eyes, both blushed ever so slightly. Both seemed to clamp down hard on their obvious reaction to one another, the blushes disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. "Come," the doctor said again, leading Thomas toward the front door, "we make well."

The newest vehicle to arrive unloaded Sergeant Willis from the village and Inspector Vyne from Scotland Yard. Bates noticed Mrs. Hughes startle ever so slightly. She took a half step back, as did Anna. Bates held his ground as the sea of Russians parted for Inspector Vyne, who made his way quickly to Lord Gillingham. Sergeant Willis trailed along behind the inspector, unhooking a set of handcuffs from his belt. Despite the fact that they were headed away from him, Bates still felt a twinge of anxiety at the sight of the handcuffs. He felt Anna's small hand slip into his; she was anxious, too.

"Lord Gillingham," Inspector Vyne was saying, "you are under arrest for the murder of Eustace Green. Anything you say may be taken down in writing and used against you." Sergeant Willis affixed the metal cuffs to Gillingham's wrists. Bates struggled to keep looking forward. He scarcely knew what to feel and he had not expected this inner turmoil. He was distressed to see any man so bound, recalling only too keenly the bite of the cuffs on his own wrists. And yet he was grateful for Gillingham's hand in removing Green from all of their lives. And he was pleased to see justice being served, especially with respect to Anna and Mrs. Hughes, and himself, truth be told. Gillingham would not suffer as he had. He would be able to trade on his family name and influence, if not their empty coffers, for a sentence far less severe than Bates had faced. Anna held his hand just that more tightly as Willis ducked Gillingham into the back of the police car.

Bates looked up to see yet another car pulling up in front of the gathered crowd. Lord Flintshire stepped forward to greet the two men who emerged from the vehicle, but he was elbowed aside as Lady Edith threw herself into the arms of the second man who was barely standing when she reached him. Considerably thinner than the last time Bates had seen him—the night of the horrible house party—Michael Gregson was still very much alive and if not exactly well, apparently on his way there. Lady Edith held him close, whispering his name a dozen times as though she could express everything she felt in just his name. Bates supposed that was true; he could infuse "Anna" with a multitude of meanings.

As most of the family gathered around Lady Edith and her beau, Lady Mary mused to her grandmother, "What's next then, circus peanuts?"

"Be happy for your sister, dear," the Dowager replied. "She's said nary a word about your time in the center ring today."

"My time in the-?" Lady Mary was clearly flustered. "Tony Gillingham is nothing to me. If he did murder his own valet, good riddance to him."

"Of course, dear," her grandmother coddled. "Now take Mr. Blake's arm, such a nice strong arm it is, too," she patted Blake as she passed him, "and come into dinner. I find that I'm suddenly famished." She led the way as though she were still mistress of the Abbey, Russians trailing her like ducklings.

Carson nodded, releasing the staff as the rest of the family followed Lady Grantham inside. Anna held Bates back just before they reached the courtyard entrance. "I need to speak with you," she began, but stopped when Bates held up his hand. He motioned toward the front door where Lord and Lady Grantham were huddled together. Bates cocked his head to catch their words.

"I am sorry, Cora," Lord Grantham said almost too softly. "I've been a fool. Holding you responsible for Bricker's actions is unforgiveable."

"I forgive you anyway," she replied with a soft smile. "You know nothing ever happened, don't you?"

"I trust you completely, my dear," he murmured. Bates couldn't hear the rest of the earl's words, but he thought he caught 'unwaveringly constant' at some point. He smiled and turned to his own wife. She stood with her hands on her hips and a grin on his face and he recalled anew what 'unwaveringly constant' truly meant.

"Mr. Bates," she drawled, "I truly do need to speak with you."

"Yes, dear," he teased. "Just a moment." He turned to see Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore in the courtyard.

"I've never seen two people so instantly drawn to one another," Mrs. Hughes said. "That doctor hasn't left Thomas' side since they came in."

"Well, I wish they'd do their drawing some place other than my kitchen," Mrs. Patmore leaned forward, emphasizing her words. "I still have dinner for thirty to bring about, and I can't very well work with a half-naked under butler and that dog sneaking in and out every few minutes."

"Now, now, Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Hughes attempted to settle her feathers. "We all deserve a bit of happiness now and then, don't you think?'

"I do think, Mrs. Hughes," she agreed. "But not in my kitchen!"

The two women bustled back inside and Bates settled against the stone wall, pulling Anna into his embrace. She went to him willingly, then pulled back a bit, resting her hands on his chest. "I really do need to talk to you. The sooner the better."

"No time like the present," he said, running his hands across her back.

"Well," she began, "we do need to talk about Lord Gillingham, but first I need to explain what started a couple of weeks ago. Or rather what didn't start." She ducked her head to his chest and drew a deep breath.

"Mr. B-B-Bates! Mr. B-B-Bates!" Brendan barreled out the servants' entrance and stopped short as the Bateses put some appropriate distance between them. "I f-f-followed her, Mr. B-B-Bates, just like you said." The youth bent over, out of breath.

"Where are they, Brendan?" Bates asked.

"Way up in the attic," the boy said. "Down a hall I've never even seen before. She has them hidden in a little niche in the wall right across from a locked door. I can show you," he added eagerly.

"Thank you, Brendan," Bates said slowly. "I think I can find it." He wondered about the dog briefly, his suspicions growing. Nodding in relief, Brendan ran back into the house.

"John Bates," Anna spoke firmly. "The gong is going to sound any moment. No more interruptions or delays. I need to speak with you."

"Yes, dear." Bates smiled, anticipating her message.

"I've suspected for a few weeks, but didn't want to say anything . . ." Anna trailed off, Bates' all too expectant eyes apparently unnerving her.

"Go on," he urged, taking hold of her arms once more. He pulled her closer, but not into his arms. He wanted to see her face.

"I went to see Dr. Clarkson a couple of weeks ago. He ran some tests. I stopped off at his office on the way back today." Anna punctuated each sentence with a stroke of her hand across his chest. He still held her elbows, edging her just that bit closer as she spoke. "He had the results back. We're going to have a baby, John," she finished in a whisper as her smile outshone the sun.

Bates felt his own smile erupting in response. Even knowing what was coming, he still marveled at the words as she said them. Unable to resist, he drew her swiftly against him for a short but intense kiss.

"Mmm," Anna sighed a moan as she drew back. "We can celebrate properly once we're home tonight, Mr. Bates." She patted his chest one last time. "But now you have a dog to find."

"Indeed I do, Mrs. Bates, indeed I do," he held her hand as they walked toward the servants' entrance. "And then, once this circus is over, I will likely pour His Lordship into bed, and then come and find you. No more interruptions, no more delays," he echoed her thought from earlier. "The rest of our perfect life resumes today," he promised.

As Bates made his way up the service staircase, he overheard Lady Edith and Mr. Gregson speaking softly just the other side of the door. He paused to be certain all was proceeding as it should, though just why he had taken such an interest in Lady Edith's storyline, he couldn't quite determine. Something about her ache for her child had tugged at him as he read. Her ache seemed so similar to his own yearning for children he had yet to meet. And yet, he pitied the Drewes as well.

"You did the right thing, my darling," Mr. Gregson was saying to Lady Edith. "You made the right decisions for our daughter. Our daughter," he repeated in a voice full of wonder. "But we must leave her there."

"No, Michael," Lady Edith protested. "Not now that you're here. We can be a family, the three of us."

"Marigold has a family, and we must leave her to them," Gregson insisted. "In time, we can reach out to her. Provide for her future. Introduce her to the brothers and sisters she will have in time." Gregson's voice softened and then stopped completely. Bates could hear muffled sounds from the other side of the door and expected the couple was kissing.

Satisfied that Gregson had both Lady Edith's and the Drewe family's happiness well in hand, Bates continued toward the attic when the gong rang. He turned, making his way back down to the door that had hidden Lady Edith and Mr. Gregson from view and cautiously opened it. Relieved that they had evidently obeyed the sound, Bates swaggered on to the dressing room. He pulled His Lordship's tails from the wardrobe and placed other items on top of the dresser in readiness. Several minutes went by and His Lordship still had not appeared. Bates poked his head into the corridor. Baxter stood before Her Ladyship's door, a rather bemused smile on her face.

"Mrs. Patmore may have to hold dinner a bit this evening," she informed him with a conspiratorial smirk. "Or else Lady Mary may have to assume the hostess' duties."

"You mean they're . . ." Bates pointed to the door. "Right now?" he asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yes," she nodded, blushing furiously. "Be glad it wasn't you who walked in on them."

"That's a sight I'd rather not carry around. Thank you, Miss Baxter." Bates smiled and shared a chuckle with her.

"Mr. Bates," she offered hesitantly, "I'm sorry for my outburst earlier today. You did mean well, and your changes obviously have made several people very happy." She took a deep breath and continued. "And Mr. Molesley told me that I was just as interesting whether I was Mata Hari, Ma Barker, or just plain old me."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Miss Baxter," Bates said sincerely. "Best of luck to you both."

"Baxter!" Lady Grantham's head and shoulders quickly jutted out from her bedroom door. "Was that the gong?" She ducked back in the room, keeping the door open a crack. "Hello, Bates," she uttered, eyeing him with some concern.

"Good evening, m'lady," he offered with a short bow. "I merely await His Lordship's pleasure." Bates controlled his smirk as he turned, allowing it to blossom briefly as Baxter caught his eye, and ducked back into the dressing room.

"It's a good thing for you I can't manage without you, Bates," Lord Grantham said sternly as he closed the door that led to Her Ladyship's room. "That comment was . . ." Grantham collapsed onto the bed, clad only in his dressing gown. "That comment was damn funny," he chortled.

Bates shared in the laugh, pleased to see His Lordship's mood so lightened from the morning. "Your Lordship may have to learn to manage without me," Bates said, surprisingly himself at speaking the words so soon.

"What the devil does that mean? That business with Gillingham didn't scare you off, did it?"

"No, m'lord," Bates shook his head in clear denial. "We've just learned that Anna is expecting. It may be time for some old dreams of ours to come to fruition. Not right away, but soon, m'lord, possibly very soon." Bates wondered at the words he was speaking. Although he and Anna had toyed with the idea of leaving once or twice since _that night,_ they had certainly not discussed solid plans. Nothing set enough to be putting His Lordship on notice. Where was this coming from?

"Well that's fantastic, Bates!" Lord Grantham shook Bates' hand vigorously. "Congratulations to you both. I'll be lost without you if you do go, but I guess Barrow can fill in again." Bates was taken aback at how easily his employer seemed to shift from being unable to manage without him, to planning his replacement.

"I don't know if Thomas will be available, m'lord," Bates intimated. "It seems that he and the young Russian doctor are well on their way toward . . . an understanding."

"Hmmmm? I did sense a bit of a spark out there on the drive. Will wonders never cease?"

"Apparently not," Bates agreed.

"Well, I suppose I can give Molesley a go then," the earl mused.

"Molesley?" Bates was incredulous. "My apologies, m'lord," he backpedaled. "Mr. Crawley always spoke highly of Mr. Molesley."

"You're not leaving me with many options, Bates," the earl explained.

"Well, I won't be leaving you tomorrow, sir."

"And for that, I am grateful, my friend." Lord Grantham stood and clapped his valet on the shoulder as he undid the tie of his gown. "His Lordship's pleasure, indeed!" He laughed again. "I'll pay for that later, Bates."

"You're welcome, m'lord," Bates said with a smirk as he handed off the pants and undershirt.

Once Bates had seen Lord and Lady Grantham safely descending the stairway, he resumed his journey to the attic in search of Isis. He found the dog curled around her pups just as Brendan had described, right across from the door to the 'amazonkindle' room. He jumped as the dog rose, shaking the pups from her gently, and said, "Open the door, Bates. We need to talk."

Trying to still his shaking hand, Bates unlocked the door. He paused and let Isis enter before he did.

"Sit," she ordered. Bates immediately sat in one of the two arm chairs. "I hope you've enjoyed yourself," the dog continued, "because it ends now."

"Who are you?" Bates asked.

"I think we've had quite enough impertinence from you, sir," Isis said. "I'll take the key now." Isis held out a paw as though to shake hands.

Bates peered at the dog. Every so often, her whole body seemed to flicker and he seemed to see another presence within or behind her, a very human presence. "How do I know I can trust you with it?" he asked.

"We know we can't trust you with it, don't we?" Isis-who-was-not-Isis asked. "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take me to sort out the mess you've made? German spies, homosexual Russians, Mrs. Hughes? What on earth were you thinking?"

"All right," Bates bargained, "I'll give you the key. Only let us keep the baby. That's all I ask. Change the rest back around however you want. Make Baxter and Molesley a pale shadow of me and Anna. Only let us keep our child. We've earned it after what you've put us through." Bates finished in a rush, uncomfortable that he remained sitting in The Author's presence, but unwilling to openly defy Him by standing when he'd been ordered to sit.

"Are you sure about that, Bates?" The Author's presence spoke around Isis now, in another, far less canine, more cultured voice. "Have you noticed what happens when children are born here? Are you willing to risk your life, or Anna's, for the sake of your child?"

Bates hung his head, recalling Branson in the weeks following Lady Sybil's death, and Lady Mary's months long struggle with grief over Mr. Crawley. "No," he whispered. "I'm not. Anna means more to me than any number of children. And I think I mean more to her."

"You do, Bates," The Author intoned. "Never doubt that. You mean more to Anna than life itself. She would not want to live without you."

"Thank you for her." Bates looked up again, and The Author's true form towered over him. Isis was now curled up at his own feet. "She is everything any man could ever think to ask for. I am grateful that we have each other."

"Give me the key, Bates." The Author held out his own hand, ethereal though it seemed. "When you and Isis leave, the door will lock behind you. No one will be able to enter this room again."

Bates pulled the key from his pocket. He turned it over in his fingers several times. _How on earth could he sacrifice their child simply because The Author had determined that he or she shouldn't exist? He could take Anna and run, build a new life in another town, assume new names. They could raise their children – for there was no reason, no reason, mind you, that there should not be many more – in peace and die together surrounded by children and grandchildren. But where could they go to escape The Author's will? Through the 'amazonkindle'? Baxter had said that she seemed to have been in other Authors' stories several times. Perhaps they could find asylum with a more understanding Author? But would either of them survive long enough to get back to this room and through the window of the 'amazonkindle'? Would The Author take the artifact somewhere else before he could return with Anna?_

_**Anna. It always came back to Anna. And Anna trusted him, even through her doubts, she trusted him to do the right thing. He had choices, but only one choice honored her trust.**_

He stood and walked to the mantle. He ran his fingers along the edge of the screen, which was showing the dinner going on below them. Bates watched as Dr. Clarkson rushed into the dining room and knelt to exchange words with Mrs. Crawley. Lord Merton rose to confront Dr. Clarkson. Bates wondered briefly when Lord Merton and Mrs. Crawley had arrived; he hadn't noticed them before. As the two men squared off, the Dowager Countess said, "Oh goody, dessert!" Bates chuckled and picked up the water bottle on the mantle.

"I may let you take that with you," The Author said. "For all the trouble it's caused."

Bates shook his head and picked up the artifact. The Author eyed him impassively. Bates fingered the key again, committing himself to his chosen course of action. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, silently apologizing to generations yet unborn.

Bates carefully placed the key in The Author's hand.

Instead of falling through The Author's ethereal hand, the key became as misty as the creature who held it. Isis stood and barked once. Bates stooped to pet her.

"Thank you, Bates," The Author said.

"Let's go, girl," Bates said to Isis.

"Bates," The Author called as he and Isis stood in the doorway, "Get Grantham to give you one of the puppies. Every child should have a pet."

Bates looked from the dog to The Author, whose form was fading further as they stepped through the doorway. "Thank you, my Lord," he whispered. "Thank you!"

As a tear trailed its way down his cheek, Bates helped Isis settle back around her pups. "You're going to have to find another place, girl," he told her. "It's a bit too drafty up here."

Much later, long after all the guests had either left for their own beds or settled into borrowed beds in the Abbey, long after he had wrestled a very intoxicated earl into his pajamas and then into his wife's arms, and even long after the longest walk home of their married life, Bates cradled Anna close to him in their own bed. He held her delicately, gingerly, as though she were fragile and infinitely precious. He splayed the fingers of his right hand across her belly, searching for confirmation, seeking for signs of a new life growing within her. But he had only her words from earlier in the day, and while The Author had seemed to grant his most fervent wish with his offhanded comment about the dog, Bates now doubted. He quietly cursed himself for doubting.

He held Anna to himself more tightly. She squirmed a little and turned in his arms, hugging him back unconsciously. Bates felt the tears sting his eyes again. _It didn't matter. If Anna were all he were ever given in life, she would be enough. He would not mourn what had not happened, but be grateful for all that he had. Just like Anna, he would learn to trust through his doubts._

And ever after, he would never be certain if he heard her voice, his own, or another, more ethereal voice speak directly to his soul, "BELIEVE."

And so he chose to do, cradling his wife and child close to him through the long night.


End file.
